By S.R. Fergi

——

The last yawn shall be an affront to boredom of ages past. 

It will creep up sure as sunrise, sure as the 

Questions that should accompany it: 

Why did we build the final tomb of our species and

Strangle ourselves inside, with coil and Ethernet and server,

Whispering “future is now” as our brains 

Dried into husks and our children

Died of thirst? 

//

(commit_to_revert)

//

Why did we not cry out with the fervor

Of billions of falsely promised fools who

Knew, deep down, that the technological 

Drive toward AI was but the last needle

In a haystack of thousands of painful

Incisions upon our incessant desire to

Remove ourselves entirely from the grace of

Good Nature? 

//

(revert_data_AI_bloom)

//

Don’t trip over the root as you yawn while 

Entering the last resting place of our kin. 

“Here lies humanity, buried beneath data

And corporate disguise.”

That is what the gravesite should say, if there

Remained any of our ilk alive to read it.

//

(can_we_commit_to_a_return_?)

//

But know that as you run into this tomb, the root you

Watch for is less root, and more cable.

The roots of the earth stopped

Searching for good soil years ago. 

——

A Roost of The Ages – Home